


Nicked

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Avengers (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Secret Avengers, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Clint Barton has a panty kink, Clint likes wearing panties, First Meetings, M/M, Neighbors, Panty Kink, Phil Coulson develops a panty kink, Slight feminization, Strangers to Lovers, Underwear, Underwear Kink, Underwear Theft, Underwear Thief, Women's Underwear, bottom!clint, cross-dressing, michevious!Lucky, purple panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 09:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: There was a pile of purple panties when Phil came home. He's pretty sure that he didn't own them.





	Nicked

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something. So, I did. Almost didn't finish it.
> 
>  **Not beta read.** Tell me if anything jumps out at you. Thanks!

Keeping a dog never occurred to Phil.

It just happened.

Phil didn’t keep pets on principle. Life as a SHIELD agent was grueling at the least, and pets weren’t high on priority meter. The job demanded too much of his time. Most days he came home with aches down to his bones, having just enough time for a shower before face-planting onto bed.

Lucky, as Phil liked to call the short-haired golden retriever, was—well— _lucky_. He saved Phil’s life on an opt once. A small recon in New Jersey went south nearly as soon as it began. It was supposed to be a milk-run but the intel provided was absolutely shit. Heads rolled, literally.

Phil wasn’t as heartless as junior agents liked to believe. One good long look at the puppy whose bark led med evac to find him, and Phil knew that he couldn’t leave the pup behind. Lucky kept him company through the quintjet, medical, and then his apartment. They’ve been together ever since.

Three months into the new set-up, a pair of modest purple panties trimmed with white lace.

“Huh,” Phil picked up the cotton with a pen, inspecting it. His last partner couldn’t have left it; one, because the guy had gone commando, and two, Phil also didn’t bring the guy home. He also preferred undergarments of the comfortable boxer-type because he needs _somewhere_ to hang loose.

 “Lucky! Come out, boy!”

A woof rang out.

Lucky galloped from Phil’s bedroom with flimsy bit of fabric between his jaws, tail wagging in excitement.

Phil frowned.

“Bad dog,” he chastised, bending down to one knee so that Lucky could get the full-view of his disappointment. Lucky lowered his ears and whimpered. Opening his hand palm-side up, he ordered, “give it here, Lucky, show daddy what you have in your mouth.”

Lucky gave it up without a fuss—a pair of undies with a cotton purple crotch-area and patterned black lace to hug the hips.

Phil studied the new pair. He grimaced at the dark lavender spots on the cotton. It was the same size as the previous one. He could only conclude that they both belonged to the same person.

His building housed level-5s and above. SHIELD liked to keep its personnel near site for emergencies and what-not, especially those with a highly valuable skill set. Accommodations came with the package. Floors aren’t necessarily segregated. They’re all expected to be proper adults. Besides, gender-segregation was just sexist and biased. SHIELD valued itself as an equal-opportunity employer.

Surely, the owner would track down the missing garments sooner rather than later. They were all trained spies after all. Phil owed whoever it was an apology.  

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” He shook his head. “I know my boxers collection isn’t as grand as my Captain America memorabilia, but you just can’t go around stealing underwear—you just can’t. I’ll buy you some on the next store trip, okay?”

Lucky woofed, ears up again.

Phil petted him behind the ears with an affectionate expression. “Come on, then, I’ve souvenirs from Peru. I think it’s time we retire Senior Squeaky,” he said, talking about the bone-shaped chew-toy he brought from Mexico.

***

True to his word, Phil bought Lucky a trio of cotton briefs on his next day off: red, white, and blue.

Lucky didn’t like it thought, and another pair of panties were dropped at Phil’s feet at dinner the very same evening. This time it was a purple lace-string bikini held up only by tiny bits of thin garter. Those went into the laundry to be washed and folded too.

Whoever was the poor soul victimized by his dog’s thieving little hobby apparently liked the different shades of purple.

***

Phil’s next attempt at appeasing his dog’s new-found curiosity—after coming home to find an assortment from g-strings to high-waist—was a pair of simple lace panties from Victoria’s Secret, with a high-cut at the thighs.

Lucky nosed at the fabric before turning away without a second sniff.

Phil sighed. The panties went into his sock drawer along with the rest of Lucky’s hoard.  By then, nearly half of it was occupied by different shades of purple panties. No one had come to collect them yet.

He supposed that he needed to place up an ad soon.

***

 **PURPLE PANTIES _,_** said his ad, **_if you’re missing pairs of underwear, my dog has probably nicked them. I apologize. Please come see me at my room. I hold the utmost discretion. Signed, PHIL COULSON, Level 9, Senior Agent_. **

*******

A month passed.

Nothing.

Phil just spent the last week on the hardest recruitment op of his life. He thought the bullet he shot through Hawkeye’s thigh had taken the cake, but he was sorely mistaken. That was _before_ he spent that two days off-grid in frigid Russia talking to the Black Widow. Turns out, she _is_ as deadly as the rumors say.

He then spent the past week neck-deep in paper work for her recruitment, and the last three religiously visiting medical because Romanov—surprisingly, Widow’s real name—chose a certain sniper to be her sparring partner. Thank goodness that Barton—aka Hawkeye, the stupidest fucking marksman in the world whose self-preservation instincts were zilch—received the all-clear from medical today.

Phil wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and sink into bed.

A pile—a big one with no less than half a dozen pairs—of purple panties greeted him when he arrived home.

“Lucky! I said no more stealing underwear!”

Lucky, the smart dog, hid under the coffee table.

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. His day-long headache worsened. He contemplated donating the damn things to the nearest Salvation Army. The owner didn’t seem inclined to retrieve them anyway.

But, no, he was a SHIELD agent with morals.

Whoever the kinky bastard was, they deserved their underwear back.

Sighing, Phil picked-up the panties—one crotch-less lace, one simple lace, one like a jack-strap but in lace, one silk with lace garters, two boy-cut, one with a butterfly at the back, and one that confused Phil with all the straps. He hand-washed them all. His washer couldn’t be trusted with delicate little things.

***

Lucky’s woofing woke him up.

His apartment was one of the few spaces that Phil could fully relax. He has top-of-the-line security that was updated nearly every quarter, and Lucky as a guard dog to boot. It was one of the last places he expected to be caught off-guard.

He was though but it didn’t last long.

“Hands in the air,” he ordered in two seconds flat, gun-cocked and aimed at the shadow in his walk-in closet. “You’re trespassing on SHIELD-property. Specifically, quarters assigned to me. That means, _agent,_ HR will be receiving a recommendation for your dismissal in the five hours if I’m not satisfied with your explanation.”

“Geez, boss,” the warm deep-hearty chuckle came as the second surprise. Clint _fucking_ Barton stepped out of the closet with a sheepish grin. “I’m not really sure it’s stealing if they were mine in the first place.”

Ahh, yes, Phil remembered him getting promoted to level five a couple of months ago. The timeline fit.

Lucky, the traitor, woofed, wagged his tail, then pounced on Clint.

The man fell back with a loud thud, wiggling while Lucky tried to lick his face. “Aww, dog, no, not the face. I just got the stitches out.”

“Lucky, heel.” Phil flicked the safety on and stowed his gun away. His body buzzed with action-ready adrenaline that he normally possessed during missions. He slid off the bed without a sound then made his way to the fallen man. “Lucky…”

Clint laughed under Lucky’s affectionate attack. “Oh, so that’s your name, huh, fellow? Alright, dog—er, Lucky, heel or whatever—urgh—can ya—Coulson, call your dog off, will ya, boss?”

Phil pulled Lucky by the collar. “Ease off, Lucky, come on.” He ushered the Labrador out of the room despite Lucky’s high-pitch whines. Scratching sounds followed as soon as he closed the door. When he turned back around, he saw Clint pathetically trying to wipe doggy drool off his face with the hem of his shirt. The bruises on his hips were still visible.

“Here,” Phil said, bending down with a towel from the bathroom. “I’m sorry about Lucky. He—uh, it’s actually the first time he’s done that. He doesn’t normally do that to strangers.”

“Thanks.” Clint nodded at the towel then wiped his face. He came up grinning again. “Maybe that’s ‘cause I ain’t a stranger, boss. You really think SHIELD employs pet-sitters or some shit when you’re on a mission? Nah, man, that goes to the level ones or twos, who aren’t in them higher-ups good graces. Or, you know, _me_. ‘Cause I happen to like dogs.”

“Oh.”

Yes, the thought never crossed Phil’s mind. HR just assured him, when he brought Lucky in, that pets were also cared for in SHIELD.

“Well, uh, thank you, Barton. I can imagine how tough it’s been to take care of him. I assure you that it is very much appreciated.”

Clint cocked his head to the side, chuckling. “Man, you really talk like that, don’t you? Like all the time. Not just in the office. All proper and shit. Damn, sir, it’s really weird.” He wiped behind his ears. “Lucky’s a real angel compared to the terrier that Sitwell keeps. He takes direction really well. Behaved most of the time too. Except when the pizza guy comes. Lucky loses his shit.”

Phil frowned, and Clint raised his hands in surrender. “Nah, man, it’s cool. I didn’t feed him any if that’s what ya think. But with those big blues, it can sure be tempting. Wasn’t easy to resist’em, sir.”

“Very well.” Phil nodded, feeling off-balance. He straightened his back. The mask of Senior Agent Coulson resurfaced. “Would you like a laundry bag for your,” his mask cracked, “unmentionables? I assume that they’re all yours. I have noticed your fondness for the color purple. I assure you, Barton, that I shall remain discreet about your preference. SHIELD prides itself in non-biased attitudes.”

“Jesus, Coulson, you sound like the handbook.” Clint laughed again. “Yeah, yeah, I read all that the first time around. One of the reasons why I stuck here longer than I did the other alphabet agencies.”

Phil schooled his face. “Then, I don’t suppose I understand this late-night visit rather than knocking on my door like normal adults. I placed an ad in the lobby bulletin board.”

“And sent a memo through the weekly e-newsletter,” Clint added. “I, uh…”

Phil kept his eyes trained on Clint. He used all his will power not to stare at the bitten pink lips. Only then did his mind wander to his sock drawer full of purple underwear. Bio-hazards happen more than he’d like, and he’s seen Clint’s backside more than once. Those globes were too plump not to be ogled but he refused to objectify his subordinate.

“Yes?”

Clint blushed a pretty pink to match his lips. “It’s, uhm, private, ya know?”

Phil blinked—then, blinked again. “Yes, yes, you’re right. I—I apologize.” It took all his composure not to back-crawl away and hide in his closet in embarrassment. Instead, he kept the façade of cool and calm composure and walked like a proper adult. “Let me get you a laundry bag.”

Ten minutes passed before Phil accomplished his task. His palms sweated through the most of it. Still, he managed to pack _Clint’s_ purple panties into a discreet white laundry bag. It was thin though, and he could see the purples and blacks through the material.

“You, uh, cleaned my, uhm… panties,” Clint said when handed the bag. He stared quite obviously at Phil’s fingers, licking his lips unconsciously. He looked around, eyes seeing the large mirror right across Phil’s bed, then snapped them back to the bedroom door.

“Hand-washed, yes. I thought the washer was too rough for… delicate things.”

Clint’s blush deepened. “I, uh, uhm—well, uh—thank you, sir. Should I—I should—I, uhm… door? Outside door?”

Phil jolted into action. “Ahh, yes, right. I think Lucky’s ready to claw his way in…” a soft sigh came from behind him. Phil, being Phil, may have looked like a regular pencil pusher but he didn’t become a level nine senior agents by just pushing papers and sending memos. He had the instinct for things.

Things like _this_.

He pivoted around slowly, catching Clint with half-mast eyes looking down at the floor. “Unless, of course…” when he spoke, Clint’s frame lifted immediately and his eyes sprung up until their eyes locked together.

The blond goes and licks his lips again, eyes darting ever-so-slightly lower. “Unless what, sir?”

“You’d rather stay the night and show them to me?”

***

Clint, as it turned out, looked absolutely divine in panties.

Phil’s appreciation for the male form—particularly Clint’s—in women’s _lingerie_ rose to its peak. Tonight, especially, when he had Clint Barton sprawled on top of him with the strappy lace panties that he only-now understood how to be worn. The straps stretched over Clint’s ass, hips, and thighs like picture frames to the Mona Lisa. He also liked how it stretched over his fingers.

“That’s it, babe,” he urged, fingers gripping Clint’s hips enough to leave new bruises.

Clint panted from on top of him, hair glistening with sweat and eyes glazed over. “Fuck, Phil, _there_ ,” he moaned, throwing his head back while grinding down. “Fuck, fuck, right there—go—god!”

“Just me,” Phil whispered, licking up the tan column of Clint’s neck. His naked cock buried deep into his lover. Whatever Clint wanted to sass faded in a loud moan. Phil touched the slick head of Clint’s cock where it peeked from the tiny lace. His finger touched the tip.

“Phil!” Clint hissed, bending forward. “I’m gonna cum.”

God, Phil thought, Clint looked utterly perfect like this—flushed, debauched, and a pair of purple panties that hugged him in all the right places. He worked a hand between them, rubbing this thumb over the damp fabric which covered the heated flesh. He pressed down to the base of the shaft where Clint’s balls grew tight.

“Phil! Phil! Phil!”

White hot cum spread across their stomachs.

Clint slumped forward. “Fuck, you’re still hard. Do it, Phil,” he said, licking Phil’s ear. “Wreak me.”

When Phil came, it was accompanied by the sound of fabric ripping. Purple lace was stuck under Clint’s flaccid spent cock and the top of Phil’s thighs—messy and ruined.

“I liked these…” Clint murmured, lazily fingering the lace and getting rum all over his fingers.

Phil took Clint’s hand and licked the fingers clean. “I’ll buy you more. God, Clint, I’ll buy you the whole fucking store.”

Clint laughed, and it vibrated on Phil’s over sensitive cock. “Purple,” he declared, with a large flirty grin, “lots and lots of purple. I’ve got competition for purple panties in our apartment.”

**Author's Note:**

> **If you have a prompt or an idea, you can[INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~**
> 
>   **As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).**
> 
>   **[The ABO Primer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/403644), though not strictly followed.**


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